


New World (Symphony)

by jujuberry136



Series: Winter Olympics AU [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-17
Updated: 2010-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujuberry136/pseuds/jujuberry136
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first notes of Dvorak’s New World Symphony hit and Derek had never wanted to know what happens next more than when Spencer’s arms extended disjointedly to the opening crescendo.  Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/176906">Winter Olympics AU</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	New World (Symphony)

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I continued this. Seriously. You should probably listen to [this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yctfXIqugXc&feature=related) to understand the music described in Reid’s piece. Also, no beta so spelling and grammar mistakes are my own. 

Emily held tightly to Derek’s hand as they threaded their way through the crowd. Derek had been cracking jokes all morning about how different the Pacific Coliseum looked without the sea of orange fans, but the sheer scope of the crowd was still overwhelming. They had been battling seas of grandparents and pre-pubescent girls since stepping on the crowded 135 bus. Emily was really regretting her earlier suggestion to travel like a native. At the time, traveling with a group of excited fans seemed like a brilliant idea. What better way to take in the final part of Reid’s competition then to feed off the crowd’s excitement from start to finish?

Five hours after suggesting to Derek that they watch the Men’s Free Skate from the Coliseum instead from their comfy lounge, Emily’s knees were ready to kill her. She had posted a personal best in the 10-kilometer pursuit, and while it hadn’t been enough to medal, even her mother would be satisfied with being the fifth best in the world. After a few perfunctory interviews with bored NBC sports commentators, all of whom clearly knew little about the sport and showed little inclination to learn more, Emily had given herself yesterday morning off, but the same impulse that drove her to train for the past fifteen years hadn’t been willing to endure another day of inactivity.

She’d grabbed Derek from the American lounge where he’d set up with a cooler of beer and a bag of pretzels—celebrating his bronze in the 1,000-meter with forbidden carbs, he’d joked when he saw her confused look—and demanded he entertain her for the afternoon. Of their lunch group, she and Derek were the only two with free time on their hands. Both JJ and Spencer were competing today, a fact Emily and Derek lamented heartily until they learned that the women’s half-pipe at Cypress Mountain was delayed due to weather. A quick call to Penelope Garcia later, and they were set with fairly decent seats at the Coliseum (Emily really didn’t want to think about how such tickets were found so quickly, she believed Spencer’s earlier teasing about Penelope’s tech prowess).

“So Derek,” Emily asked once they found their seats. “I’m going to need your help here — how do I know if Spencer’s doing well?”

Derek raised an eyebrow incredulously. “Just because I skate doesn’t mean I know a thing about figure skating. All I’ve got is that if he doesn’t fall, that’s probably a good sign.”

Emily’s heart sank.

“Sorry,” a voice interrupted. “But I couldn’t help overhear — what do you guys need to know?”

Emily turned to the dark-haired man on her right. “Everything?” she offered weakly.

The man laughed. “What are you doing here if you don’t know anything about the sport?”

Derek grinned good-naturedly. “A friend of ours is competing, Spencer Reid. We finished our events earlier, so here we are. Derek Morgan,” he introduced himself before pointing to Emily and doing the same.

“You guys know Spencer too?” the man asked incredulously. “Sorry, I’m Ethan Coiro. Spencer and I skated together in Junior Nationals. It’s such a trip to see him here — I mean, it’s what we all wanted, but none of us really ever thought we’d actually get to the Olympics.”

Emily and Derek took fully advantage of Ethan’s expertise and spent the next half-hour peppering him with question ranging from the differences in jumps to attempting to understand the truly insane judging system.

“I still can’t believe one wobbly landing is enough to land you in fourth,” Emily said, reeling from all the information Ethan had shared.

“It’s not a forgiving sport,” Ethan said sympathetically. “Why do you think I stopped at 16? Too many hours, too many expectations, too little gain — I just wanted to be able to make a mistake and not spend the next four weeks obsessing over it.”

“So, because Spencer’s in fourth place after the short program,” Derek said. “Does that mean he’s completely out of medal range?”

“Not necessarily,” Ethan replied.

A young girl turned around to face them from the row ahead of them. “Sarah Hughes won gold in Salt Lake after fourth in the short program,” she informed them matter-of-factly. “It’s possible, but extremely unlikely. Especially if you’re rooting for Spencer Reid.” Her grandmother blushed deeply and shushed her granddaughter while also apologizing for her tactless remarks.

“What did she mean, especially Spencer?” Derek asked Ethan. “I mean, I get that coming from behind isn’t always likely, but…” he trailed off curiously.

Ethan sighed. “Spencer’s a really good technical skater, it’s where he gets the majority of his points. But in the free skate, the judges are usually looking for more artistry. And the main criticism of his free skate going into the Olympics is that he isn’t really connecting with the music for his program. Not enough emotion,” he finished uneasily.

Emily resolved to cheer all the louder when her friend took the ice.

The rink was currently filled with four men warming up; each wearing a dark dramatic costume and practicing complicated looking jumps. She could see how Spencer could be tempted to call his costume a “sparkly onesie” and was suddenly grateful for her sport’s heavy jackets, wool caps, and snow pants. The gun also helped to keep discussion to a bare minimum of how the athletes filled out their uniforms.

Her thoughts were distracted by yet another interruption from the young girl in the row ahead of her. The girl was starring at her phone and kept repeating, “Holy Crap!”

“Diana!” her grandmother scolded. “Language!”

“No, grandma,” Diana protested. “You don’t understand…”

Her grandmother was firm. “There is never an occasion for that kind of language.”

“Spencer Reid’s coach disappeared yesterday!” Diana burst. “I just saw it on the TeamUSA website!”

“Holy crap,” her grandmother said softly. Her sharp glare cut off her granddaughter’s laughter abruptly.

Emily, Derek, and Ethan exchanged startled looks.

“Excuse me,” Emily said, leaning down to tap the granddaughter’s shoulder. “We’re friends of Spencer’s — does it say on the website what the police are doing?”

“That’s just it,” Diana replied. “He didn’t disappear disappear, he just upped and left! According to the article, Spencer told USOC staff that he thinks Gideon left sometime yesterday. He left Spencer a letter, but he didn’t tell anyone where he was going or what was going on.”

“How horrible!” the grandmother said.

Emily felt sick to her stomach. Even though she and Erin had a stormy relationship, she couldn’t imagine her coach walking out on her the night before the biggest competition of her life.

“What the hell is wrong with that guy?” Morgan whispered furiously, obviously feeling the same betrayal as Emily.

“Jason Gideon really hasn’t been the same since Boston,” Ethan said softly. He grimaced. “You know how coaches can get really competitive? Well, he and Adrian Bale had to share rink time in Boston about four years back — pretty much right after Turino. So Gideon’s coaching these pairs skaters, Elle Greenaway and Brian Anderson and they’re on the ice right? They’re practicing a throw triple lutz when Bale sends out his skaters. While Bale and Gideon are arguing about whose ice time it is, somehow there’s a collision on the rink. Anderson ended up breaking his leg in four places and Greenaway’s spinal cord was crushed — she’s still going through physical therapy.”

Ethan paused. “Gideon wasn’t really ever the same after that. There were a lot of rumors going around that he only kept coaching Spencer because he wanted to show the community he wasn’t a screw-up. He could still produce champions.”

Their small group sat in silence as the first four skaters took to the ice, with Ethan occasionally explaining a particularly difficult jump or spin. He rolled his eyes dramatically when the fourth skater took the ice. “Carmen,” he replied to Emily and Derek’s unasked question. “It’s one of the most overused songs in figure skating, but skaters keep winning with it so no one will give it the rest it richly deserves.”

Emily felt obligated to defend one of her favorite operas. “I like Carmen, it’s a great opera and has a great score.”

“And has been used by everybody and their brother over the last twenty years,” Ethan gripped. “Kwan, Slutskaya, Cohen, Asada, Lysacek, Tickner, Plushenko — I could go on. C’mon, would it kill someone to throw in a little jazz? Something new, that’s all I ask.”

They watched the next set of four and Emily found herself cheering alongside the crowd when someone landed a big jump, or applauding a particularly beautiful spin. Ethan’s explanations grew more and more technical, explaining the comparative difficulties between jump types and why most of the competitors were sticking to triple jumps instead of the stupendously more difficult quads.

When they hit the halfway mark of the competition, Ethan reached into his bag and pulled out a small silver radio. He started fiddling with the dial, pausing on a station a few times before changing his mind and changing frequencies.

“What’re you doing?” Morgan asked, looking on curiously.

“Trying to find the American commentators on the radio,” Ethan replied distractedly.

“Being here isn’t enough, you need to hear someone else talk about it?”

Ethan apparently found the correct station as he stopped fiddling with the knob to grin at Morgan. “For the upper level skaters it’s nice to hear what everyone else is saying — plus they’ve got way better access to gossip that we do sitting here.” He snorted. “There’s a rink version available that’ll let you listen to the Canadian commentators, but they’re a rip-off.” He held up the radio enticingly. “Emily, if you hold on to it, we should all be able to hear.”

The American commentators were ignoring the skater on the ice and talking about the Russian they considered to be the gold-medal contender.

“Well Sandra,” a male voice said. “The big story in the American camp is the dramatic departure of Jason Gideon, the coach of the current fourth place skater Spencer Reid.”

“That’s right Scott,” a female voice replied. “Which is a little unusual for this skater. Spencer really prefers to stay out of the spotlight. Though with the year he had last year, that’s been difficult.”

“Spencer was attacked by a crazed fan, Tobias Hankel, early in 2009,” Scott said. “He ended up taking four months off to let the foot fracture he received heal. Though his showing in the World Cup and American Cup was definitely the classic Spencer Reid we’ve grown to expect over the last few years.”

Emily was startled. She hadn’t heard anything in the papers about a figure skater being attacked. She looked at Derek to see if she had just been living in a bubble or if Spencer’s attack was less public than the two commentators believed.

He mirrored her confused look and shrugged. When he opened his mouth to ask Ethan, the man held up his hand and mouthed “in a minute.”

“Now Scott, that classic Spencer Reid you’re talking about, can you highlight it for the fans at home?”

“He’s a very technically proficient skater,” Scott replied. “A solid jumper with excellent technique, but he very much skates in his head — too contained for many judges’ tastes which doesn’t help him in the artistic scoring.”

“With Benjamin Cyrus currently in 6th place and Kevin Lynch in 10th, Spencer looks to be the United States’ only chance to medal in men’s figure skating.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to be under at his first Olympics, Sandra.” Scott replied. “And he’s got a very tough field in front of him. Lyov Lysowky, first after the short program, has been excellent in practice all week and just dominating all season. And then there’s the Canadian Josh Cramer, currently in second, who was just fabulous in the short program the other night — his quad toe loop was a sight for sore eyes!”

“And that there is how Spencer Reid could bring home a medal—the quad jump sequence.” Scott said excitedly. “He has a massively hard jump sequence planned in the beginning of his program tonight. A quad-triple-triple, or a quadruple toe lump followed by a two triple loops. He’s also got a two triple-axel combinations on his program. If he lands them all cleanly, he’s got a shot at a medal.”

“You think he’ll still attempt it despite the recent upheaval?”

Scott was slow to answer. “Spencer Reid is a fighter. We always see him attack these jumps, so I’m thinking he’s going to try tonight. I haven’t heard about any changes in program submitted to the judges, so if he doesn’t attempt the combinations he has planned, well… that’ll be some serious point deductions.”

Ethan turned the volume down when Scott and Sandra started to discuss the skater currently in third place, Ivan Bakunas. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I was just curious to see if they’d heard anything about a program change — last chance to change anything and Spencer didn’t take it. You were asking earlier?”

Emily waved him off. The last of the current group of four skaters had been judged and a familiar slim figure was gracefully gliding across the ice. It was funny, she reflected. He had seemed so slim, almost fragile, when she first met him at the lunch table. But on the ice, clad in a black and red outfit, he positively towered over the rest of the skaters. Spencer was a good four or five inches taller than the rest of the skaters, though he seemed perfectly in control and was absolutely focused inward, not sparing the other men another glance.

Something sparkly on the JumboTron caught Emily’s eye away from the scene on the ice. She grabbed at Morgan and Ethan’s arms excitedly. “The screen! Look!”

“Would you look at that,” Derek marveled. “Looks like Spencer’s got at least a little support behind the scenes!”

Penelope Garcia, decked out in a silver sequined jacket, bright yellow horn-rimmed glasses, black dress, and feathered headband was cheering enthusiastically on camera. She made quite a contrast to the row of coaches, solemnly standing by the edge of the rink in somber suits or warm-up gear. She paused for a moment when she noticed her own face on the large screen in the center of the rink before throwing a peace sign and a wink to the cameras before resuming her enthusiastic bouncing.

And then it was Spencer’s turn.

~*~*~*~*~

Derek looked down at his buzzing phone in surprise. After the hundreds of congratulatory emails and text after winning his medal in the past twenty-four hours, his phone had gone relatively silent. He flipped open the phone curiously and grinned when he saw a text from Penelope Garcia’s name. “Ttly famous nao,” it read, “lucky i still <3 the little ppl."

Derek snorted softly. He looked back to the ice. Spencer was making a few cursory passes along the ice, shoulders set rigidly and his face closed off.

“That’s not a good sign,” Ethan hissed worriedly.

Next to him, Emily frowned. “What’s not a good sign? He hasn’t even started yet!”

“The tension’s written all over him,” Ethan explained softly. “He needs to loosen up.”

“How’s he supposed to loosen up?” Derek asked angrily. “His coach walked out of him the day before the biggest event of his professional career. Hell, if Hotch walked out before my race I’d be throwing a shit fest and he’s only the sports psychologist.”

Penelope Garcia must have realized the same thing and started to wave a bright red scarf in order to attract Spencer’s attention. The camera focused in on the two of them talking, Penelope gesturing emphatically while Spencer nodded occasionally. Something she said must have cracked Spencer’s shell because as he skated towards the center of the ice, he was fighting a grin.

“Here goes,” Ethan whispered as Spencer pulled his arms tight across his body and lowered his head to the side.

The first notes of Dvorak’s New World Symphony hit and Derek had never wanted to know what would happen next more than when Spencer’s arms extended disjointedly to the opening crescendo.

Derek didn’t see any traces of the slightly awkward man he’d met in the cafeteria last week on the ice. The man in front of him didn’t so much as skate to the music as inhabit it fully. Stomping in concert with the timpani, spinning and jumping alongside the crescendos and lilts of the winds and strings — the figure on ice commanded attention.

The crowd was more than willing to oblige. Though he’d applauded politely at the end of the other skaters' routines, Derek joined the crowd wholeheartedly. He stomped wildly at each successful jump landing, held his breathe at each airborne rotation, he clapped and cheered at the complicated-looking spins, and when the music was finally over and Spencer finally stood still, chest heaving and arms outstretched to the heavens, Derek was on his feet yelling as if the Bears had won the Super Bowl and he had box seats.

As Spencer made his way across the ice to wait for his scores, dogging a few projectile teddy bears and bouquets, Morgan turned to Ethan. “That was good, right? It’s not just ‘cause we know the kid — that really was good, right?”

Ethan simply turned up the sound on his radio, the tinny sound difficult to hear over the still cheering crowd.

“And Spencer Reid just had the free skate of his career!” Scott was saying enthusiastically. “I don’t even… Sandra, did you see that? Wow.”

Sandra sounded amused at her co-announcers histrionics. “What did you think was the best part of the routine?”

“Sandra, you cannot ask for better than this at the Olympics. He nailed his jumps, the footwork was fast and clean, his lines were fantastic. And tonight, possible for the first time from this skater, we really saw emotion. Just look at the counter turn — the kind of pure passion he brought to a basic element is really what the judges are looking for.”

Derek tore his attention away from the commentary as the JumboTron stopped playing highlights from the performance and focused on Spencer sitting anxiously next to Penelope Garcia waiting for his score (“the kiss and cry box” Ethan had told him and Emily early in the day).

When the scores came back positive (“And that brings him into first place, Scott”) the crowd roared. At any other time, Derek would have made fun of the sight of Spencer and Penelope jumping up and down excitedly in the box, stopping to hug each other for a moment before resuming their bouncing, but not tonight.

Not when he, Emily, and Ethan were doing the same thing from the stands.

“Now all he’s got to do is wait,” Sandra said ominously from the radio.

~*~*~*~*~

Ordinarily, Derek felt bad cheering for another’s misfortune. But he was adding figure skating to the list of occasions when such things were permissible (in addition to football, baseball, and any time the Wisconsin football team took the field). So when Josh Cramer fell towards the end of his program, Derek clapped politely alongside the rest of the crowd but grabbed Emily’s hand excitedly.

“OH MY GOD,” Emily shrieked once Cramer was off the ice and safety ensconced in the kiss-and-cry box (where he was heroically trying not to do either). “DID SPENCER JUST GET A MEDAL?”

They looked at the JumboTron expectantly. When Cramer’s score flashed, Derek didn’t remember the jump to his feet or pulling Emily, Ethan, and the two strangers to his right into a massive group hug. “HE DID IT!” Afterwards, Derek pretended to be embarrassed by the image replayed over and over in the night’s recap, their group caught on-camera jumping up and down like maniacs, by both the JumbroTron and the NBC commentators.

He, Ethan, Emily, and Ed and Simon (the two former strangers Derek had manhandled into a group hug) sat nervously through Lyov Lysowky’s routine. The man was fantastic — clean, strong, and artistic. There was a good reason the man had been the favorite going into the event, Ethan had explained before he started, and the man lived up to his hype.

Derek was worried Spencer would be upset with the silver, but when the camera flashed to his reaction to Lyov’s scores (“A new world record!” Ethan gasped when he caught sight of the numbers), the young man simply waved and smiled proudly. When the NBC commentator asked how he felt, Spencer replied, “Amazing. I’m pretty happy with silver — did you know that when the modern games were restarted, winners were given silver medals? Oh, and um, hi mom!” He waved excited to the camera.

Derek cheered wildly for his friend. Over the screams of the crowd, he suddenly had an idea. He looked at Emily. “Any interest in catching the women’s half-pipe tomorrow?”

She grinned. “Think we can talk Mr. Olympic Medalist into coming with us?”

“If we can’t, I think I know someone who can,” Derek replied, waving his phone suggestively.

“So, we’ve got a bronze medalist and a silver medalist in our group,” Emily mused. “I guess JJ’ll just have to win a gold to keep it balanced.”


End file.
